


Silver and Satin are Brighter in Spring

by kittycastles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arianne is Queen in the South, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Game of Thrones/Teen Wolf crossover, Sansa is Queen in the North, Slow Build, arianne being queen isn't really relevant, but i feel like everyone should know about it anyway, i really don't know how to tag on here oh well, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycastles/pseuds/kittycastles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have not heard of House Argent before," she says, a rare admittance of ignorance. "I have heard no tales of your knights and their deeds. How can I know you can protect me?"</p>
<p>The well-masked pain is replaced by a gentle smile, with hints of steel.</p>
<p>"Rest assured, your majesty, I can protect you. I've run with wolves before."<br/>----<br/>Or, Sansa is Queen and Allison is her bodyguard. Eventually, they bang.</p>
<p>Written for Teen Wolf Femslash Week 2k14</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver and Satin are Brighter in Spring

**Author's Note:**

> I'll start by saying that I don't have the encyclopaedic knowledge of GoT/ASOIAF that some people do (and I am jealous of those people) so there's almost definitely going to be mistakes in here.
> 
> Written for TW Femslash Week 2k14 and I made a [gifset](http://scallisaacd.tumblr.com/post/94009359266/teen-wolf-femslash-week-day-4-crossover-au) to accompany this fic (both the fic and the gifset are very mediocre but deserve attention all the same)
> 
> As always comments are appreciated, criticisms are helpful and cannibalism is frowned upon in most circles.

"Your majesty?" The steward's brusque tone cuts through Sansa's quiet thoughts.

The Queen in the North turns away from the window, towards the man. He's wrinkled and grey, with battle scars marking his face. Some are old marks, from wars long past. Others are fresher, from wars barely won.

If Sansa is angered by the interruption, it does not creep into her tone.

"What is it?"

"Your new personal guard has arrived, your majesty. She awaits you in the throne room."

_She?_ thinks Sansa. _Perhaps I will have a Maid of Tarth by my side_. At the thought of Brienne, her heart sinks slightly lower in her chest. It does her no good to consider the lady knight that fought side by side with the Kingslayer and her mother's grim shade. All three were gone now and she had shed tears for each of them (half as much for the Lannister and twice as much for the twice-slain Catelyn).

When she enters the throne room, she is struck again by how grandiose a title scarcely fits the skeleton of a chamber. Winterfell is still far from rebuilt, new stone needing to be cut to replace what the war had incinerated. Her heart stings for Theon, for just a moment. _He was a poor, wretched creature by the end_ , she must remind herself. _It is for the best that he has gone. And painlessly, too_.

The woman that stands in the centre of the room is not like Brienne. Her features are finer, stature smaller, hair darker. But there are echoes of the great blonde fighter in her stance, in the way her calloused hands seem ready to leap to the knives strapped to her side.

As soon as Sansa enters, the woman kneels in perfect form. _Noble blood, then_. It takes Sansa a moment to permit her to stand. The concept of constant kneeling adoration had appealed to her younger self, the thought as much a delight to her mind as the taste of lemon cakes was to her tongue. But in reality, it proved grating and Sansa was still not used to seeing hardened men dive to their knees at the sight of her. Lemon cakes, of course, remained as pleasurable as they always had.

The lady stands at the Queen's request and Sansa sees, on closer inspection, that she's scarcely more than a girl. _The same age as I, perhaps?_ It's an odd thought, that. To think of herself as so young, even though she was. As Sansa muses to herself the woman across from her remains quiet and still, barely moving an inch in her black leathers. Sansa is the first to speak, as is proper.

"What is your name?"

"Lady Allison, your majesty," the dark-haired maiden replies, in a voice that was softer than Sansa had expected. "Lady Allison of House Argent."

Sansa furrows her brow slightly, not familiar with that name. But she had suspected right, Allison was of noble birth.

"A lady, then? Do you have a brother, perhaps, an heir to your house?"

Allison shakes her head slightly. Sansa finds herself drawn to the way dark strands catch on her soft cheeks.

"I have no brothers, your majesty. I have just my father and myself. In name, I am heir, but our holdings and our people were lost in the past winter. I am heir to nothing but a title." Argent's voice betrayed no sadness, but Sansa was shrewd enough to see pain behind her eyes.

"I am sorry to hear that, Lady Allison. Much and many were lost in the long winter." The lady gives her queen a silent nod of thanks.

"I have not heard of House Argent before," she says, a rare admittance of ignorance. "I have heard no tales of your knights and their deeds. I, of course, trust the judgement of my council, but how can I know you can protect me?"

The well-masked pain is replaced by a gentle smile, with hints of steel.

"Rest assured, your majesty, I can protect you. I've run with wolves before."

Sansa offers a smile in return. She has not heard the stories that the small folk tell, of the pack of wolf-like creatures that ran through the woods during the long dark winter, rending any wights they found. She has not heard of the dark-haired maiden that ran with them, with blades and arrows of darkest dragon glass.

 

\-----

 

It does not take long for Allison to ingratiate herself into life at Winterfell. She is one of the few who can tame Rickon's wild episodes and Sansa thinks that her dark hair makes the boy think of Arya, who has not visited for many years, while her light frame and weapon-roughed hands make him think of Oosha, his old wildling companion, now gone and buried with so many others.

Odd, too, is that she forms a bond with Shaggydog, who not even Oosha could settle. Allison could calm the dire wolf, not in the same way as when Rickon warged with him, but in a manner unusual all the same. Allison could have him licking her hand moments after he bared his teeth. _But he never rages when Lady Argent is there_ , thinks Sansa, looking down from her window to where her brother, lean and lanky now, plays with his companion beast.

The guards take longer to warm to the queen's new guard, especially those who never saw how fearsome Brienne and Oosha and Meera Reed could be. It takes Allison shooting a roving bandit clean through the throat and sinking her daggers into the chest of another before she has earned their trust. 

Wandering through the godswood, the perimeter was meant to be secure. Allison felled them both quickly, calling for guards only after they had both met swift deaths. She bends down to examine their bodies as she hears the tramp of mailed boots behind her. She turns and faces the guards who run up to her.

"Who let them through?" Her eyes are dark and her voice darker.

The guards stammer and trip over their own tongues. Allison waves them to silence.

"You two, go that way. Find the break in the defences. Fix it. You three, there's construction along the north wall. Go there, secure it. You, captain. Gather two thirds of the off-duty garrison, mount up, scour the woods, find any other bandits and deal with them. Tell the last third to search all of Winterfell, including the town." She turns to the final guard. "Alert the guards already posted, tell them what's happened." It takes a moment for her orders to fully register in the minds of the men.

"What of the bodies?" one manages to ask. Allison takes note of that one's face. Perhaps a promotion, he has some presence of mind.

"Leave them. I can dispose of them myself."

It is only once the guards have dispersed that Allison notices Sansa, by the weirwood tree, where Allison had pushed her, out of harm's way. The young queen stands, back straight as steel. She crosses to the two bodies, ignoring the blood stains on her dress's hem, letting them join the ones left by the muddy spring slush. The blood creeps slowly from the men's wounds, to mingle with the almost-melted snow and sacred water.

"Who were they?" Her voice doesn't shake. She's seen enough blood from enough bodies to not go faint at the sight of it.

On one man Allison finds a carved token, made from bone-white weirwood. "From beyond the wall." The other has a small metal star, with seven points. "And from this side of it."

_And both godly, too_ , thinks Sansa.

"I had hoped with the wall toppled, we might have peace," Sansa could feel her mask of ruling slipping, she could detect the notes of a child in her voice. "A foolish hope, it seems."

"Well, these two seem to have found peace with each other across the wall's ruin. And they may have found peace with their gods." Allison glances up to Sansa's face. _She can see that I'm weak_. Sansa readies herself to withdraw, to put up the barriers that cost Littlefinger his life to establish. But she stops herself. She lets her emotions show plainly on her face, for the first time since her father was taken from her.

Perhaps she's just curious. She wants to know what it's like to have another person see her, truly see her. She's forgotten what that feels like.

"Your majesty, there is always hope." There's concern written plain across Allison's face.

_It feels good_.

"Sansa."

"Your majesty, I --"

"Lady Argent, you've spilled blood for me. There is no reason to stand on ceremony. My name is Sansa, yours is Allison. Should we not use them?"

Allison blinks, confused. But her face soon spreads into a smile.

"It would be a shame to waste such pretty names."

Sansa returns the smiles.

 

\-----

 

They grow close. Sansa has been starved for companionship for so long, she has forgotten what it feels like to have a friend.

With Allison, it's like she's with Jeyne, but they are not children and they can talk of things that aren't bound by a child's naiveté.

With Allison, it's like she's with Margaery, but there is no great threat of a cruel king over their heads and no unspoken political tensions.

With Allison, too, it's like she's with Littlefinger, for Allison is clever and shrewd in more than just combat.

_But Jeyne and Lord Baelish are both dead and Lord Baelish was an evil man besides._

Sansa chases the thought of them from her head. She spurns, too, thoughts of Margaery, for reasons soft and secret, that Allison can never know.

It's truly spring now, and the sun is bright in a clear blue sky. Sansa sits, doing needlepoint, a mindless task, yes, but a beautiful one that soothes her between the matters of state she was never supposed to tend to. Allison mends her leathers, damaged in a spar with the garrison. There had been three men against her and they had all ended lying on their backs.

They were both ladies of high birth, Sansa of the highest, and they surely had maids and attendants to do this work for them. But Sansa sat and worked her needle, paying no mind that the Northern Council was due to meet, while Allison stitched her leathers, paying no mind that calloused fingers were unbecoming of a noble lady.

Sansa sets her needle aside and faces Allison.

"I know so little about you, Allison."

The dark-haired lady looks up.

"Have I not been open enough?"

"No, I think I haven't been prying enough. Your house words, what are they again?"

"We protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Sansa's brow furrows.

"That doesn't sound familiar. I may not know your words by heart but I would think I could recognise them." Allison see's the crease between Sansa's brows and smiles before continuing.

"They were changed only recently. Before, we had the words 'we hunt those who hunt us.' My father and I…" her voice trails off. "They didn't suit us. So we changed them."

Sansa is almost shocked.

"Allison, you can't just change your words!"

Allison smirks her response.

"Well we did."

Sansa smiles back. She runs through the words in her head. _We protect those who cannot protect themselves_.

"So can I not protect myself, then? Am I so helpless?" Sansa tries to sound jesting, but her tone betrays just a hint of worry. Normally, that would be too well-masked and buried for any but the shrewdest listener to determine, but around Allison her guard is lowered.

"Hardly, Sansa." Allison seems unconcerned. "On the battlefield, you're hardly a worthy opponent, true. But other ways… The Game of Thrones? It seems you've won."

Sansa first response is a sigh. Wistful, regretful.

"Have I?"

"Sansa, you sit on the throne. I would have thought that the sole objective."

Sansa lets her eyes wander out the window. There was a time when her greatest dream was to sit, not on the throne, but beside it and beside her kingly husband. That dream had died many years ago. But it was not replaced by a dream of the throne, but by a dream of survival. She tries to remember when she last had a dream which made her as happy as the one of bright and happy childhood. _But I did survive, when so many didn't and I must carry on._ Allison says nothing else, lets them sit in silence. Sansa thinks of her mother and her father and her brother and her wolf. She thinks not of the pit she can feel in her stomach, below her heart.

 

\-----

 

The fire burns low in the hearth by the time Allison arrives.

"Your majesty?"

Sansa doesn't respond. Allison waits until the servant that escorted her has left before addressing her by her first name.

"Sansa, what is it?"

"Were you ever married, Allison?"

The question takes her by surprise. She blinks before answering.

"No, but I was betrothed, once." Sansa smiles at her response.

"I was betrothed once, as well. More accurately, I was betrothed thrice and married once." Sansa finally looks away from the fire and towards her companion. "That sounds rather silly, doesn't it?"

"I think that, as queen, it's within your power to dictate how silly anything you say sounds."

"Ah, the benefits of rule!" The two of them share a giggle, a moment of private girlishness. There's a quiet, comfortable pause after they compose themselves again, before Sansa continues.

"What was his name, your betrothed?"

"Scott." Sansa can hear the emotion behind the short word. She looks at Allison, with probing eyes. She wants to know more, but not if Allison isn't willing. The dark-haired girl continues all the same.

"He was perfect, really. Kind, sweet, strong, funny. For once my house's small stature worked for me; I was scarcely a noble and he was scarcely a commoner. My family still protested, of course. But…" here she pauses to shoot Sansa an impish smirk, "there's only so much you can make your only heir do."

Sansa's desire to know more about her companion overrides a nagging concern for sensitivity.

"Did he--"

"He's not dead, no. He's just… gone." Allison chokes this last word, suddenly holding back tears. Sansa steps to her quickly and takes her in her arms, not asking for any explanation. Allison folds into her, warm and soft. This is probably the closest they've ever been and Sansa notices something.

"Allison, that scent…"

Allison quickly pulls back, embarrassed. She wipes her tears on the back of her hand.

"Oh, I just came from the exercise yard, I was helping Rickon with weaponless combat." Her brow furrows slightly. "He really does enjoy using his hands." Sansa gently shakes her head.

"No, no, it's not that. It smells … delightful. Like flowers, but not any kind I can recognise. And I've been to Highgarden, they keep almost all kinds there." Allison smiles and blushes.

"I doubt they'd have those flowers in Highgarden. In most places, they're considered a weed, but my house has been making fragrance from them for centuries. The smell is meant to ward off evil and foul creatures."

"And does it?" Sansa asks lightly.

"I found it never worked as well as dragon glass." Sansa gives Allison a look of surprise.

"So, you mean you've…"

"My holdings destroyed, most of people with them? I took up arms against the Others, yes. Who wouldn't?" And there was that steel again, that Sansa had heard in her voice the first time they spoke, in the half-built throne room.

"Of course, it makes sense. I just never really thought of it." Sansa is almost apologetic, sorry for rousing just a hint of that quiet violence in Allison.

Now it's Allison's turn to sound perplexed. "Haven't you heard the stories?"

Sansa shakes her head, no.

"I thought everyone knew the tale, of the maiden hunter who ran with her pack, slaying every Other they could."

"Pack? Of wolves?" Sansa's voice is hushed, knowing of the fury wolves could bring. _The fury I could bring_ , she thinks.

Allison hesitates. She takes a deep breath before she continues, voice quieter before.

"Almost. With the return of dragons, of the Children… many things that were thought lost returned." _I know that too well_ , thinks Sansa. But Allison continues. "Of course, afterwards… some were lost again."

"Your Scott?"

At first, Allison just stares into the dying embers of the fire. Then, she nods and speaks again.

"And another. Another I might have loved. But he's gone, they're both gone…"

_I have lost much too, my dear Allison. I've lost much I loved._ But Sansa says nothing, allowing her companion a moment to herself. Once again, Allison finds herself wiping away tears.

"But why did you ask me here? I'm sure it wasn't to weep over my past."

"No, it was… I'm to be married again."

Allison first look is of concern, her second of curiosity.

"To whom?"

"Willas. Willas Tyrell. We were actually supposed to be married before, long ago. I was to be his lady, but now he is to be my prince." Sansa can't help but consider the twist of fate with a smile.

"So you've met him, then? And do you…" Allison lets the word go unspoken, but Sansa knows what she means.

"He's sweet and kind… but no. I don't really need to, though. He's pleasant enough and that's all I need."

"I would think that a queen would choose any man she wishes, for nothing less than love."

"Any man I wish, yes, but love… for all the power I wield as a queen… I cannot afford the luxury, I must still secure my line." She sends Allison a smile. "You've spent much time with Rickon, can you imagine what a nightmare he would be as king?"

Allison returns the grin.

"If his skill unarmed is anything like it is with weapons, I fear all of Westeros would come to fear the wars he would start out of pure boredom." The two let themselves laugh together again. When they had subsided, Sansa motioned for Allison. She complied and joined Sansa at her side. The two strode out of the room, arm in arm.

"We're to leave for Highgarden within the week, to meet with Willas, before returning to marry here." Sansa smiled at her companion. "Perhaps we can see if your magic blossom grows in the Tyrells' gardens, after all."

 

\-----

 

The sun is bright and warm in Highgarden and Allison immediately starts to sweat quietly beneath her leathers. It takes less than a full day for Sansa to insist that she dress appropriate for the weather and not the warpath, which is how the young queen finds her companion wrapped in soft silks and satins, no doubt with as many knives tucked around her person as can be reasonably hidden beneath her skirts. Sansa is struck by how pretty the lady Argent really is. She's no more or less attractive than when dressed for combat, but Sansa is surprised by the gentle femininity that graces her when she's in the pale grey gown (it turns out that the Houses Stark and Argent share that colour).

Sansa walks through the gardens in a rare moment of respite from the politics of their visit, Margaery be her side and Allison behind, next to Margaery's own companion, a tall dark woman named Braeden.

When Sansa first sees Braeden, she gives her companion a quizzical look. _Not your usual gentle fare_ she thinks. Margaery lets out a gentle slivery laugh.

"First your mother, then you. It seemed a fierce lady protector was all the rage, and I am not one to be behind the times." Margaery glances back to where the two armed women stroll, less casually than their wards, no sign of conversation between them. "She's from Dorne, you know. Apparently trained with the Sand Snakes."

"Is she as skilled as them?" Sansa had had few chances to meet the Dornish sisters, but respected them greatly from what little she had seen of them. They had already thwarted no less than three attempts to assassinate the Queen in the South. Arianne remained, of course, unharmed.

"I would hope so, she's costing enough. Not to mention I have to tolerate Derek, her squire. Very surly man. Very handsome, as well, but still very surly." She laughs again, Sansa joining her this time.

They walk a while more in companionable silence.

"Braeden's no match for you, Sansa." Sansa blushes slightly, like she hasn't in years.

"I would have thought you'd find many replacements for me." Her voice is low and quiet.

"Oh, I have replacements by the bushel. Maids, knights, noble ladies, noble lords. Being the wife of a deposed king leaves one with plenty of leisure time. Plus, with my husband now a proper man, I can even spend some of it with him." Sansa blushes and laughs again. "But they are replacements for you Sansa, they aren't a match for you. I haven't found one as you seem to have done." Margaery throws her glance pointedly towards Allison.

"Allison? I would never..." Sansa stops herself. That's not strictly true, _never_. Perhaps she'd had thoughts, on cold nights. Perhaps she'd entertained the idea, wondering what Allison's bow-calloused fingers would feel like across her skin. What her soft lips would feel like pressed up against hers. _Not never_.

Margaery watches Sansa's conflict play out over her face, lets out a laugh.

"Trust me Sansa, my brother can be a terrible bore to live with. You'll need to entertain yourself somehow, between your duties as queen."

Sansa doesn't reply, keeps her gaze pointedly towards her feet, watching them click against the stone of the path, crushing soft petals.

Margaery continues to smile, even as her companion remains silent. They remain like that, until they cross into a new area of the extensive gardens. Suddenly, Sansa raises her head, catching a new scent on the air. She quickly turns back to call to Allison.

"It seems they have your flower, Lady Argent."

Allison turns into the breeze, finding the familiar fragrance for herself. She breathes in and her lips curve upwards into a smile.

"It seems they do, your majesty."

Margaery looks at Sansa, sees the girlishness pouring back into her face. She holds back a sigh as the red-haired girl (because she is a girl, really) turns her face into the warm sun.

 

\-----

 

Sansa sits in front of the fire, perched on an old wooden stool, older than she is. Allison stands behind her, brushing her long hair with gentle hands. It reminds Sansa of when her mother would do the same, sending away the maids to occupy herself with the tug and pull of the brush.

_We shan't need the fires soon_ , she thinks, as the embers burn low. She'll miss them, she thinks. She can't quite remember the last time the castle was warm enough to not need the fires burning. She can't quite remember the last time her mother brushed her hair, or she petted Lady. She can't quite remember what Robb's face looked like, or what her father's voice sounded like.

Sansa quickly presses a hand to her mouth, to stifle a sob. Allison's hands pause.

"Sansa?"

She waves at the air aimlessly, trying to brush away her sudden thoughts.

"It's fine, I'm just being silly." _Just a silly little girl_.

Allison steps around and crouches down, putting her face level with her queen's. Her eyes are soft and open and loving.

"Is it the wedding?"

"The wedding to a man I don't love, you mean? No, it's not that." Sansa looked long and deep into Allison's eyes. "I just thought of all I'd lost."

"You've lost a lot."

"So have you, Allison. Your two companions, your wolves. You loved them."

"I will love again, Sansa. So will you."

There's silence between them.

It isn't far for Sansa to close the gap between their lips. She barely has to move her head before they're kissing. Allison is warm and inviting and she returns the kiss in kind. Sansa tumbles down and loses herself in Allison's scent, the same flowers as always. Allison's lips are soft. She tastes different to Margaery, without the expensive cosmetics and shades that the Tyrell lady so favoured. But Sansa isn't thinking of Margaery as she feels Allison's calloused fingers run up her cheeks and through her hair. Sansa is thinking of every point of contact between them, every tiny movement of Allison's lips and her body and her hands.

They break apart, both slightly strained for breath. Allison's lips are pink and slightly swollen. Sansa feels a single tear drying on one cheek. _I hope Allison doesn't think I cry for her_ , she thinks, slightly giddy. _It wasn't such a terrible kiss_.

But then Allison's standing, retreating, back to the door. Sansa's on her feet, perplexed.

"I should leave."

"Allison, wait."

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

"But I don't want you to."

Allison's hand is frozen at the door handle.

_Was she so quick to think of me as wrathful?_

"I don't want you to," she repeats. She can feel tears standing in her eyes, forces herself to not let them fall.

_I don't want you to_.

And Allison doesn't.

 

\-----

 

It's later, much later, before they speak again. The fire has truly died down now, but Sansa finds warmth in Allison's body. She traces her fingers over the scars that line her skin, scars she had never seen. The travellers of her hands wander the world of her body, committing each mark and crevice to a map in her mind.

"I should go." It's not the fearful pain of before. "Someone might say something."

"A queen's companion and guard and friend spends the night close to her?" Sansa smiles. "It's hardly a cause for concern, or a rarity for either of us."

Allison shuffles closer to Sansa, sliding into the curve of her body.

"Do you love me?" Sansa asks. Inside, she rages at herself. _Why would you say that? You stupid, stupid girl._

The smile that was dancing on Allison's lips twists a little, transforms to a smirk. "All subjects love their queen."

"And a queen her subjects." Sansa's tone is not as light as she would like it. Her mind still rails against her. "But is that what we are?"

Allison doesn't respond at first, keeps her eyes trained on Sansa's.

"What we are, Sansa, are lady loves. Lady loves who lost their wolves." Allison almost laughs as she says it. "It sounds so ridiculous."

Sansa truly laughs, quiet and bright.

"Well, Lady Argent, I am a true-blooded Stark, a wolf in my own right. And I would think anyone who runs with a pack of wolves has the right to call herself one."

Allison presses another kiss to Sansa's lips.

"So then perhaps we're our own wolves."

"Perhaps," answers Sansa, and they speak no more that night, not in full words, but rather in gasps and half-formed syllables that run off their tongues into the darkness.

 

\-----

 

As the sun rises, Sansa tells Allison how she loves her in leathers and dresses and neither, looking like a weapon or a noble lady wife.

As the sun sets, Allison tells Sansa how she loves her long auburn hair, how it makes her think of autumn woods and burnished bronze and a blacksmith's forge.

Sansa likes that, she thinks. Allison is the weapon and she the forge. Once creates the other, but has no purpose without it.

As Sansa brushes her lips against Allison's, she doesn't think of her soon-to-be husband or the bandits still roaming the woods. She thinks of her childhood and her dreams of sitting on a throne next to her husband's. Sansa thinks of Allison's place, next to her on her carved wooden throne, back straight, eyes cautious. 

Spring is a time for new beginnings and Sansa smiles and lets herself dream again.


End file.
